


I Want Blood, Guts, and Chocolate Cake

by 0sighnomore0



Series: Sleeps With One Eye Open [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Jackson is in Eichen House, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 09:35:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3322556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0sighnomore0/pseuds/0sighnomore0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles walked into the clean white Eichen House room, and stared at the trembling boy lying on the bed opposite his.</p>
<p>"Jackson?"</p>
<p>Note: Work in Progress</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jackson stood alone on an empty street, covered in blood.

 

“Jackson.”

 

The girl from the rave walked out of a building, her throat still ripped out, rotting skin peeled back.

 

“You did this.”

 

A police officer, ugly gashes on his face and chest, visible through his slashed shirt, grinned a bastardized smile, blood staining his blackened teeth.

 

A desiccated hand touched his shoulder, decorated with a familiar shade of pink fingernail polish. He spun around.

 

Lydia faced him, her hair a deep red from the blood coating it, a beating bug-infested black heart in her hand. Skin was peeled back from her face, revealing maggots crawling in and out of the muscle underneath. Jackson looked at his chest, at the mutilated flesh where his heart had been ripped out, and then to where Lydia held his heart in her hand. She smiled ferociously and then crushed his heart to dust, blowing the ash in his face.

 

_*******************************************************************_

 

Jackson woke up screaming. Lydia held him, running her fingers through his sweaty hair.

 

“You okay?” she asked gently.

 

“I think I’m going crazy,” he croaked, “I can’t…I don’t know if you’re real or not.”

 

“Of course I’m real, Jackson.”

 

She kissed him, her lips soft and angelic. Something wet and tacky dripped into his mouth and he tasted copper.

 

“Jackson,” Lydia whispered, insects swarming out of her flesh, “Wake up.”

 

_*******************************************************************_

 

Jackson woke up screaming. His mother stood above him, her arms in his grasp, Dark purple bruises decorated her skin where his fingertips were.

 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “Had a bad dream.”

 

Her face softened.

 

This is the fourth ‘bad dream’ you’ve had in as many days, honey,” she replied gently, “We’re taking you to Dr. Brown.”

 

He ignored Lydia’s razor-sharp smile as she slit his mother’s throat.

 

_*******************************************************************_

 

The doctor- his name was brown, like grave dirt and vomit and the police officer’s hair- had given Jackson a multiple choice test and was now reading the results to his mother behind a closed door. Lydia peppered the back of his neck with kisses while Matt whispered in his ear.

 

“You’re so lonely, Jacks,” he said seductively, “We can fix that. Just a little cut on a wrist, a few pills, a little rope, and you can be with us forever.”

 

“Go away,” he replied, “Please.”

 

“You don’t really mean that, sweetheart,” Lydia whispered, “Do you?”

 

“Aren’t you tired?” Matt murmured, “It’d be so easy to just give up.”

 

Jackson screamed to drown the voices out, clamping his hands over his ears. Someone was touching him, hands burning like fire.

 

“Jackson, stop!”

 

Jackson rocked back and forth on his heels. He felt a sharp prick in his arm, and the room swirled away.

 

_*******************************************************************_

 

Jackson woke up in a clean white room on a clean white bed in clean white paper clothes.

 

"Look at you now," Lydia said sadly, "All alone. Helpless." 

 

  
"He's not _all_ alone, Lydia," Matt interjected, "He has us."

  
  
Jackson nodded, hazy from the drugs they'd been pumping into his system.

 

"Don't leave me." he whispered.

_*******************************************************************_

 

5 MONTHS LATER

 

_*******************************************************************_

 

Stiles walked into the clean white room, and was stunned by what he saw. “Jackson?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a direct continuation of Chapter 1.
> 
> Also, the title is from Teen Idle by Marina and The Diamonds. 
> 
> The lyrics are [**here**](http://www.metrolyrics.com/teen-idle-lyrics-marina-and-the-diamonds.html).
> 
> This work is unbetaed.

Jackson fought his way to lucidity, to hearing someone calling his name and shaking him. The fog in his mind lifted a little.

 

"Stiles?" he croaked, his vision blurred, "Is that you?"

 

"Yeah. It's me. I though you were in London. That's what Lydia said, at least."

 

"Never been to London," Jackson replied dreamily, "I bet it's nicer there. Maybe Matt wouldn't follow me."

 

"Matt's dead, Jackson. He's been dead for almost half a year now. Don't you remember?"

 

"I remember lots of things. Like the police officer. And the girl. She was pretty. She had really bright pink lipstick."

 

"Kara Simmons, you mean?"

 

"Yeah. Her. I killed her, didn't I?"

 

"You didn't kill anyone, Jackson. The Kanima did. That's not you. That's magic and weirdness that no one ever told you came with the bite."

 

"I see things," Jackson whispered, "Bad things. Blood everywhere, and people controlling me, and dead things."

 

"He's not real," Matt said, Stiles' face morphing into his, "None of it is. We're the only _real_ things.  Just us."

 

Lydia nodded, blood dripping from her slit wrists.

 

"What are you looking at?" Stiles/Matt asked.

 

"Tell him," Matt/Stiles snapped, "Tell him about the skeletons in the closet and the blood on the ceiling and the bugs in your skin. Tell him. TELL HIM!"

 

"Stop!"

 

He pinned Matt to the wall by his throat, choking him the best he could. Matt laughed as blood poured from the vent in the walls and Jackson was drowning in the coppery liquid.

 

 

**_****************************************_**

 

 

Stiles gasped for air as the orderlies yanked Jackson off of him. He was immediately pinned to the floor.

  
  
"I didn't do anything," he wheezed, still breathless, "Let go of me."

 

"Let him go."

 

Ms. Morell walked into view, or at least, her shoes did.

 

"Come with me, Stiles. We have a lot to talk about."

 

 

**_****************************************_**

 

 

Jackson drifted in his room, hazy from the drugs they'd pumped into his veins like it was blood.

 

Lydia traced a pattern into his skin, a backwards five.

 

"That wasn't very nice, choking Matt. You should apologize."

 

"Screw you," Jackson slurred, "Go away. I want to be alone."  


"Oh, but you are," Lydia said sweetly, "Always alone. Poor Jackson, whom no one loves. Useless Jackson. Even your real parents didn't want you. And the Whittemores? They locked you up in Echo House."

 

"Stop," he pleaded, "Please,:

 

"I though you wanted to be alone. All by yourself. With no one. We can do that, sweetheart. Leave you. Make it to where blood coats the walls and bugs crawl from your food and your skin melts off your bones."

 

She paused.  
  
  
"But we don't want to do that. Ready to play nice?"

Jackson nodded brokenly, curling up in her lap.

 

"I'm sorry. Please don't leave me."

 

She smiled, her teeth rotten.

 

"We won't, honey. We'll always be here."

 

**_****************************************_**

 

Stiles walked into Ms. Morell's office.

 

"Let me see the marks."

 

He dutifully pulled down his shirt collar, exposing the crisscrossing red lines that mapped a path from his neck to his side.

 

"They're called Lichtenberg figures," she said, "They're common in lighting strike victims."

 

"Why do I have them? I think I would have noticed if I got struck by lightning."

 

"Most likely from the Lichen. It's interesting that the Lichen would cause that. When they go away, the Nogitsune will have control again, at which point I'll give you an injection of pancuronium bromide.

 

"So, if-"

 

"When," Ms. Morell corrected, "If you don't get rid of him, you will lose. You aren't strong enough to fight a thousand-year-old monster."

 

"Thanks for the optimism. So, _when_ I lose control, you'll kill me."

 

"It's not murder, just maintaining the balance, as I've always done. Also, take these to stay awake."

 

She tossed him a bottle of amphetamines.

 

"Sleep makes you vulnerable. And when he gets control-"

 

"I get it. You'll 'maintain the balance'."

 

"Just don't fail, Stiles. Get him out before I have to take action.

**_****************************************_**

 

 

 

 


End file.
